


saving kittens from the rain

by evocates



Category: Breakfast on Pluto, Inception (2010)
Genre: Canon Crossover, Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:22:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evocates/pseuds/evocates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You look like a wet kitten, standing there.” Saito picks up a stray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	saving kittens from the rain

**Author's Note:**

> [This](http://graphics.nytimes.com/images/2005/11/16/arts/16plut.2.184.jpg) is Kitten.

He meets her in London.

There's a storm, and he's returning back to his hotel from a conference, sheltered in the warmth of his car. The windows are pulled up but not tinted, and he leans against the side, looking out. Watching as the buildings past him by, and wondering about the histories that they have.

London seems that kind of place where each building has its own story to tell, and all of the sudden he misses Kyoto with an ache. Kyoto with its quaint bamboo-wood-paper huts; Kyoto with its lanterns and its ghosts and its blood and gore and murders hidden beneath painted smiles and gentle hands.

Saito is thinking of Kyoto when he sees her. She is standing at the sidewalk, her blond hair drenched and plastering to her face, and all Saito can see are sharp cheekbones and wide, pale blue eyes that's huddling under an umbrella too small for the storm. Her coat - wool, pale beige - is wrapped around her, and she squints her eyes shut as the wind blows.

The car is turning the corner, skirting closer and closer and before Saito knows what he's doing, he's already leaning forward. "Stop," he says when they sweeps around to her, and Saito throws open the door, tilts his head up and smiles.

"Come in from the rain," he says, and his lips quirk up. Drops of rain fall from the umbrella onto her coat, and she screws up her nose, shakes her head to try to get rid of it. "You look like a wet kitten, standing there."

When she has slipped into the car next to him, her umbrella thrown to the ground and most certainly ruining the leather upholstery, she turns to him, and smiles. Her hand remains on a corner of her coat, tugging it towards her despite the warmth in the car.

"That's my name," she tosses her hair, eyes bright, smile wide. "Kitten."

"Ms. Kitten," Saito says, and he smiles back. His tongue roll across her name, turning all the sharp edges into smooth curves, and she laughs quietly, throwing back her head and scattering water everywhere.

"What's your name?" she says, and scoots a little further down the seat, as if aware suddenly of the expensive leather that surrounds her.

The driver suddenly hands back a towel from the glove compartment, and Saito takes it and hands it to her, their fingers brushing slightly. She yanks her hand back, ducking her head down, as if in shyness, but he doesn’t avert his gaze. Instead, he takes it as a sort of permission to look further, deeper—and he’s looking from the bright eyes and sharp cheekbones to the bony shoulders and the waist and hips hidden by her coat.

There’s something almost strange about her. Something about the too-sharp edges, the too narrow angles. But he doesn’t say a word, except—

"Saito," he holds out his hand.

"Mr. Saito," she says, and her words lilt all over his name. Sa-AI-to, she says, and there's a sweet charm to it. The towel has over her head, and she rubs it vigorously through her hair. "Who saved a kitten from the rain."

She tugs the gloves off her hands—they are wet—and puts one into his. It's warm, and dry.

"That is a good description," Saito says, and lifts the hand to his lips. It's spindly, all long bones and almost knobbly fingers. Some calluses, he can feel in the brief second before he lets go.

"Where is the kitten heading to that she had to brave the storm?" he lets the hand drop, his smile deepening, crinkles around of his eyes spreading out. His suspicions are solidifying, but he finds that doesn't exactly care.

"Nowhere important," she says. "I was just..." a fluttery wave of the hands, all soft wrists.

"Well, nothing much, really."

Saito tips his head back, laughs low and throaty. He reaches out-- slowly brushes her hair out of her eyes, skittering down to the cheekbones, curving inwards to the edges. "Then, Ms. Kitten, would you be adverse to following me home?"

There's a short pause, and Saito can feel the trembling of her muscles underneath his fingers.

"Well," she says, her eyes darting back and forth. "I will like to, but—" Her fingers tug at the corner of her coat again, over and over, suddenly shy.

"For tea," he continues, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly. "I am new to this country, and making of the buildings here seem to have stories that are aching to be told.

"Will you tell me some of them?"

"Yes!" and her smile is bright. "Yes, of course! I love stories."

Saito lets his hand drop to his side.

"Then I look forward to hearing yours."

She doesn't hesitate this time, her smile widening into a tentative grin, and her hand finally stops tugging at the corner of her coat, and lets it fall down to the seat.

Right next to his.

 _End_


End file.
